


One Door Opens

by crookedcig



Series: The Same Boy You've Always Known [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, Injury Recovery, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Rhodey, Protective Tony Stark, Rhodey Feels, Rhodeyfest, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, canon compliant injury, nerdy old men, the sexy times will happen soon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:52:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7515869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedcig/pseuds/crookedcig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Civil War, Rhodey and Tony are roommates, both trying to recover from what happened. This bit is from Rhodey's perspective, and includes some ridiculous old men nerds being dorks together..</p>
<p>Title from Richard Thompson's "One Door Opens".</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Door Opens

He’d gotten used to waking up in unfamiliar surroundings a long time ago. He moved too much to really question it when the bed he opened his eyes in didn’t smell like him, or like anyone at all, but it had been a long time since he’d rolled back towards consciousness and smelled nothing but Tony, the Simple Green-metal shaving-Chanel Bleu scent of him that hadn’t changed in well over a decade and he secretly hoped never would. Even after everything that had happened, the number of times he’d woken up to find Tony napping on a couch or a cot nearby, nothing had ever reeked of Tony like this, saturated in his heat and the weirdly specific way he smelled.

Not that Jim was fixated on it. He just noticed things like that, after thirty years.

But this bed was very clearly Tony’s. It was softer than Jim liked, piled with blankets and pillows that tangled into a nest with the slightest provocation, and there was a body pressed up against his side, glued to him. The last time he’d woken up like this was the day after…Nah, that didn’t bear thinking about, the broken way that Tony had clung to him for a week straight after he’d found out about his parents. The Christmas they’d both missed, until Roberta had driven in from Philly to force a mid-January celebration on them both, complete with what was probably the last ham in Boston until Easter rolled around. The last time he’d woken up in Tony’s bed with a body pressed to him, the news had been very, very bad, and Tony almost hadn’t survived it. It was hard not to wonder if this was the same, if something had happened in his sleep and he was just now coming out of it days (weeks, months) later in Tony’s bed because something had happened to his legs, his spine, his brain when he—

No. No, he could still feel his feet. Wriggle his toes just a little bit, and the blanket moved over them. And sure, the bed was too soft, but Tony’s face was crushed up against his ribs and he was snoring softly, and the other man certainly would not have done that if there’d been any risk of hurting Jim further. If there was one thing Tony Stark would never do, it was knowingly hurt Jim. Which meant that he’d dozed off in the chair in the corner and Tony had what…woken up in the wee hours of the morning and carried him there? Lay down next to him and dropped back into sleep? No use in wondering the whys, really.

That left him with the question of what the fuck he was supposed to do about it now. It had been a while since he’d woken up in the same bed as Tony, and while he certainly wasn’t complaining, Jim had a feeling that the etiquette had changed since the days when a hangover necessitated crawling under one another’s blankets and trying desperately to sleep off the sensation that something had taken a shit in your skull and died there. A hug was ok, right? He could, without guilt, wrap his arms around Tony and pull him in a little closer, getting his head up on Jim’s chest instead of jammed awkwardly against his ribs, breathing hot and humid onto him. No one could object to a hug. And if Tony tried, Jim would use every weapon in his arsenal, namely guilt and wry humor, to get him to cut that shit out.

Hugs were good. Hugs were needed. And Jim couldn’t remember the last time he’d given Tony one, not out need for support or when the other man instinctively grabbed at him to keep him from falling but just because he wanted to. Wasn’t that a punch to the gut, realizing that for all the times they’ve had their arms around each other since Afghanistan, it was only ever out of necessity and not want, because of danger and not love.  
Jesus, they both needed a vacation. A real vacation with sand and virgin versions of drinks that had stupid names and straws and umbrellas in mugs shaped like tiki heads.

Taking a slow, shaking breath, Jim started to card his fingers slowly though Tony’s soft hair. He liked how it was going gray at the temples, salt and pepper under his fingertips as they swirled patterns against the other man’s scalp. It felt good and true that Tony was going silvery white in places, his wrinkles a little deeper. Not that time had ignored Jim, but he was aging differently, going wiry and lean where muscle had once been thick and forgiving, his hairline receding every year. Eventually he was just going to shave it all off like Fury did, and Tony would probably have a fit. He always had a fit when change was sudden and he hadn’t been consulted, sulking and panicking until he realized that everything was ok. Jim always made sure everything was ok, that was the whole point.

A yawn cracked his jaw softly then and Jim seriously considered dropping back off to sleep like this, the comforting weight of Tony Stark’s genius brain on top of his chest, drooling just a little bit judging by the damp spot forming on his shirt. It would be easy, and he hadn’t slept half as well as he had for the last few hours in years. But if he had to guess, Jim would say that Tony had another five minutes before he started to wriggle and slide his way towards sleep. He’d rarely slept more than four hours at a time before the world had gotten claws quite so far into his psyche, and now he barely even closed his eyes before they were opening again. It hadn’t quite gotten to the point were Jim was slipping Ambien into his dinner, but it was bad enough that he’d briefly entertained the thought.

After thirty years, he was more familiar with the way Tony woke up than anyone else in the world, though perhaps only because of the intense insomnia that had shaped Tony’s relationship with Pepper. And maybe, though it wasn’t a particularly charitable thought, Pepper’s inability to deal with Tony, rather than the idea of what he could have been if things had been different. Jim didn’t like having uncharitable thoughts about Pepper, because she was a good, smart, incredible person, but it was hard not to side with Tony against everyone else, even though he knew it wasn’t mature or rational. Tony woke up slowly, begrudgingly, usually like he was on the edge of throwing a tantrum about it, if he could figure out who he should be mad at. No reason to expect this time to be any different as he twitched and sighed and rubbed his nose against Jim’s chest slowly. After a few minutes of trying to burrow under him, Tony finally raised his head and blinked sleepily. There was a flicker of surprise that Jim decided not to investigate too much, like Tony had expected anything other than to wake up together; it was just too fucking early to go around breaking his own heart thinking about that shit.

“Morning.” Tony just blinked at him again, didn’t so much as wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth where it was getting crusty as it dried. He was a mess. “Breakfast?” The other man’s eyes narrowed with suspicion and Jim chuckled a little bit, threading his fingers back through his dark hair. “We don’t have to move yet.” Jim absently wondered how much money he’d get from TMZ for a picture of Tony Stark with bedhead, eye boogers, and wearing a shirt that definitely wasn’t his. “Though I do expect my shirt back, eventually. Especially since I’m the one doing all the laundry.” That actually earned him a disgruntled noise of frustration as Tony let his head drop back on Jim’s chest.

“ _Not_ your shirt.” Tony sounded like a long lost version of himself, closer to the Parker kid he’d recruited than Iron Man, and Jim felt a momentary pang of missing someone that didn’t exist anymore.

“It is too my shirt. It absolutely said ‘Rhodes’ right there on the sleeve, and unless you’ve been sharing a bed with some other Air Force personnel that I don’t know about, I’m pretty sure I’m the only possible source of that shirt.” He hasn’t stopped petting Tony’s soft hair, even if prudence told him he should.

“Not _your_ shirt. It _was_ your shirt. Roberta sent it to me, when you went on your first tour.” That had Jim freezing, one hand poised above Tony’s head and the other still curled into a soft fist against his own hip. “She knew.” That didn’t come as a surprise, really. Roberta Rhodes was a canny, powerful woman who had a habit of cutting the feet out from under everyone she met, and mostly because she wanted everyone to be safe and happy.

“Knew what?” Jim needed the clarification. Needed words to carry around in his chest, to pull out an inspect later when Tony wasn’t around so he could try to figure out just what it was they were doing when he got called platypus and honeybear and Tony said he loved him without a blink of hesitation. Huffing out a frustrated noise, Tony lifted his head to turn and glare at Jim, annoyance writ large on his face. Something in his expression broke and ran, softer and kinder and…fond, of all things. He knew Tony was fond of him. You could see that from 30,000 feet. But he so rarely got the fond looks. He got the cocksure smirk, the “did you see what I just pulled off” wink, the “let’s go raise some hell” grin. Fondness was too intimate, too precious and heavy, and only doled out when one of the two of them was too close to death and they were frightened. It worried him, to see open affection on his friend’s face without any other mood, any other hint to what he was feeling.

And then it didn’t matter particularly much what he was worried about or what his mother knew, because Tony Stark was kissing him and every other thought flew out the window like he’d never had them in the first place. It wasn’t graceful or Hollywood or easy. The kiss was sloppy and off-center at first, Tony’s hands were shaking as he touched Jim’s cheek, his shoulder. The engineer had to haul himself up further on the bed to make it so they didn’t have to crane so much, and they both had rank morning breath. Their teeth clicked and their noses got in the way and Tony’s facial hair was burning the hell out of Jim’s chin and they were only a couple seconds in.

But it was fucking perfect. The second they pulled back, Jim was going to go build an alter to that kiss somewhere, worship those seconds of his life for the rest of it. He was going to start telling perfect strangers on the street about this kiss, because it was him and Tony and it had been waiting nearly three decades to happen but somehow it felt like they’d been kissing all along, falling into each other’s rhythms and learning the melody together. If he’d had enough braincells left to worry about it, Jim might have been surprised by how simple it felt, how quickly it became practiced and easy. But for as long as there’d been a Tony Stark to kiss, Jim had wanted to kiss him, so maybe it wasn’t a surprise at all.

When they did finally break apart, Tony’s eyes were wide, not with pleasure or surprise like Jim’s, but fear. Spotting it the moment he blinked enough of the aroused haze from his eyes to actually see, Jim curled his arms slowly around Tony’s shoulders, pulling him back in, making it clear he didn’t have to go anywhere. That Tony’d made the right decision, even if it apparently terrified him.

“Easier ways to get in my pants than to steal my shirt, Tone.” His lips tingled when he spoke, his voice a husky growl that he hadn’t heard in a very long time, and Jim had the absolute honor of seeing Tony Stark blush brightly before he hid his face against the soft skin of the pilot’s throat with a nervous bubble of laughter on his lips. “Definitely easier ways than waiting thirty years to do that, too.” They both managed a chuckle at that, both of them wondering privately just how long ago they should have done this.

“I like taking the road less travelled.” The hitch in Tony’s breathing, the moment he hesitated before rolling over to blanket Jim’s body with his own broke Jim’s heart a little bit, so he kept his hands moving slowly along the other man’s spine and shoulders, through his dark hair. A slow shift, a little wriggle, and Jim had managed to part his legs just a little bit so Tony could settle between them. Concern flickered on his face for a moment and he leaned up onto his elbows and knees. “Is that ok? How are your legs?"

“If it wasn’t ok, I wouldn’t have done it.” Grunting a little, brows twitching in concentration, Jim managed to get one of his legs hooked around one of Tony’s thighs, encouraging him to lay back down. Tony still looked less than enthused, so he turned his head and captured his friend’s lips again, biting delicately on the lower one and sucking it into his mouth before releasing it with a soft ‘pop’ that had Tony looking almost crosseyed. “This is ok. I promise.” Letting one hand slide down the other’s spine, he grabbed the curve of Tony’s ass and squeezed, trying to lighten the mood, to wake Tony up and remind him that this was supposed to be…fun, for lack of a better word. The renewed blush was almost enough reward. The kiss Tony gave him, licking into his mouth and devouring him whole, leaving them both breathless and vibrating and clinging to each other desperately, that was much better than the worry he’d seen far too much of in the wrinkle between the younger man’s brows.

Dizzy with kisses and lack of oxygen, Jim absently realized he was shirtless only when he felt one of Tony’s callused thumbs glide over a nipple and pleasure stabbed through him unexpectedly. Gasping hard, sucking down Tony’s air as much as his own, he made a noise that he would never admit was a moan, rocking up to meet the press of the other’s body against his own. Distantly aware that Tony was laughing against his cheek and not focused enough to even pretend to be irked, Jim fisted his hair in Tony’s hair and yanked, earning a gasp of his own.

“There’s probably better ways to test just how much feeling you’ve got back.” Jim had to laugh at that, rolling his eyes at Tony until he felt the slide of a warm palm down his side, under the elastic waistband of the sweats he’d thrown on last night before struggling up the stairs to Tony’s side. Skin hot and nerves livewire, he shook his head.

“I’m all ears, if you’ve got one…and you know me. Anything for science.” He could feel his mouth curling into a grin, watched Tony answer with one of his own before he swooped in and stole a kiss, his hands greedy as they stripped them both down.  "Let's make a spreadsheet to track results."  Jim wasn't sure what made his heart sing more, the fact that Tony was still kissing him, or that he was fighting a sweet, happy laugh to do it.


End file.
